Black Gold
by purplediamond7
Summary: One of Captain Jack Sparrow's many nights in Tortuga and the reflections of the woman with him. Oneshot. Features a shirtless Jack, so please read & review!


**Black Gold**

Disclaimer: The Great and Powerful Mouse has spoken (it own Pirates of the Caribbean) My new favorite disclaimer!

**A/N: I made this whole thing because of a conversation with mypiratecat about shirtless Jack. So, of course, Jack is shirtless in this story! Something I think the whole PotC fandom loves! By the way, I didn't give this prostitute a name, because Jack just knows so many that names don't matter. Enjoy!**

She sat down on the bed, leaning forward slightly to make sure Captain Jack Sparrow could see her abundant attractions. He smirked slightly at her, his gaze appraising, challenging. However, he seemed satisfied with what he saw, and he started taking off his vest, his coat already lying on a chair.

She got up, and unbuttoned his shirt and helped him pull it off. Of course, she enjoyed the presented view. His skin was bronzed by hours of work in the sun, and the movement of his muscles just beneath the skin was slightly hypnotizing. Her job, she reflected, had some benefits. She slid her hands down his shoulders and arms, then to his chest, feeling the hard muscles there. He was slender, but well-built. She looked up at his face. He was grinning at her, his lips curved in a sensuous smile, letting her touch his body.

"Like it, love?" he asked, his voice full of mockery.

She slapped him, lightly, playfully. She would slap him hard in the street next time he favored another woman's bed over hers. Lazily, she let her hands slide over to his back, again enjoying his muscles. Suddenly, he drew back with an unmistakable hiss of pain.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she looked at his back. There was a long but shallow gash running across his upper back from his shoulder and another one just under it.

"Bad luck with the Navy," he said, offhandedly.

"Bastards," she agreed in a soft, sultry voice.

He leaned his black head down to hers and kissed her, expertly, almost leisurely.

"But Jack," she said when they broke apart, "are you sure your _abilities_ won't be any the worse for your injury?"

She tilted her head to one side, just as challenging as him.

"How about we find out, love?" he suggested. She wholeheartedly approved and let him steer her to the bed, blowing out the candle on the way, a tradition with them.

There was no doubt that Captain Jack Sparrow was skilled at this sort of thing. She would even go so far as to say that he was her favorite client. If there was one thing she hated, it was inexperience. Both she and Jack, however, were very experienced. She always enjoyed the nights he was with her, both of them consumed by carnal pleasure.

He made no sound during their lovemaking. He never did. It was another tradition with them. Other men might say something, complement her skill, but Jack was always silent. The complements came later, usually in the form of gold doubloons or jeweled earrings.

About an hour and a half later, she was laying quietly, Jack sleeping by her side. She rolled over and looked at him. He usually slept on back, but his injuries were getting in the way. He was laying flat on his stomach, and his sleep was the sleep of one exhausted. She wondered how long in had been since he had last slept a whole night. He was always a very quite sleeper. When she lay beside him, she almost felt that she was alone in bed; he never shifted, and his breathing was the only indication that he was alive at all.

His head was turned towards her and she looked into his face. She could see it clearly by the moonlight pouring in from the window. His hair was scattered on the pillow, dark and eerily beautiful, like black gold. Tainted beauty. His face was tanned from the sun, and in his sleep, looked very peaceful. She had never seen him look so peaceful before. There was a small, contented, serene smile on his lips and his eyelashes cast crescents on his high cheekbones, even below the line of the kohl. His closed eyes gave him a tranquil, strangely vulnerable look. Somehow, she didn't like so see it. Jack, always so confident, so mocking, so assured; without his usual glamour.

His back was exposed, and she looked at the marks on it with interest. She had seen all the scars on his chest; the bullet wounds he got God knows where, the long-healed sword and knife scars. She had seen the tattoo of the sparrow soaring over the sunset on his arm, as well and the pirate brand. His back was also full of scars. She saw old lash marks across it, and wondered if he had deserved them. The new cuts stood out harshly. They must be sore, ever though they weren't bleeding anymore and had just started to heal over.

She looked at his face again. He didn't look as if he was in any pain at all, but he was probably just used to it. She ran her hand over one of cuts on his back, and he squeezed his eyes shut, apparently in pain and with a low mutter opened one eye and looked at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sleepily.

"Nothing, Jack. Go back to sleep," she said, sinking back onto her pillow. "Actually," she said, sitting up, and Jack looked up at her again. "I was just thinking, you should get a doctor to look at those cuts."

"No," Jack said, shifting on his pillow. "Never trust doctors, love. They wanted to chop me arm off one time."

"You didn't let them, I suppose?" she asked.

"'Course not," he said.

"Jack, you might have just confused the doctors with the people who wanted to chop your head off for piracy,"

He laughed slightly. "Quite possible, love. Quite possible." And with that, he fell asleep.

**Please review! I'll give you figurative rum!**


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